What Could Have Been
by vanityfair
Summary: In a world where Voldemort wins, Hermione finds herself at the mercy of Severus Snape. She might have loved him in any other circumstances. Mild HBP spoilers and my first attempt at something darker.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Mild SPOILERS for Half Blood Prince. JK Rowling owns Harry Potter. This is my first attempt at something darker, so constructive criticism will be much appreciated.

**What Could Have Been**

Severus waited for Hermione in the bedroom. She came out of the bathroom in the negligee he had handed her, its silky green fabric and black lace hugging her hips, the neckline plunging just so that he had a glimpse of the promise underneath. Her hair was let down, he had ordered her to release it from its bun, and the frizzy brown curls framed her face. She looked so innocent, and frightened.

"Don't," she pleaded, tears streaming down her face. Her voice was small and strangled. She looked smaller and more vulnerable than he had ever seen her. A spike of sympathy pierced his heart, but it was quickly replaced with anger.

"Is the idea of my touching you so repulsive?" he spat.

No. I—I…" she stuttered, her cheeks flushing red. He wondered how far that blush extended. He would be finding out soon enough, whether she liked it or not.

"Not like this. I didn't want it to be like this," he heard her mutter under her breath. Did that mean…? He grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes.

'Legilimens,' he thought. He saw and felt many things. He never would have thought that Granger's brain would be so disorganized. He wouldn't have been surprised to find that she had taught herself Occlumency, but the stress of her defeat, of being branded a slave, of being awarded to him—the traitor, her hated professor—it was wearing her down. The strong-minded girl he had begrudgingly admired in class had transformed into the quivering wreck in front of him.

But in all the mess, he recognized a lingering attraction and respect for him. She had defended him against the accusations of Potter again and again. And yet, it had been more. She had been devastated by his betrayal not only because she believed he had been on their side, but because a small inkling of desire had crept in. He felt her disgust at herself, but with a tiny flicker of hope that still burned for him.

This would be better and easier than he thought. He would have her, and not just in the physical sense. He could easily make her believe that she loved him. All of her ideas about love saving the day, saving him, would break her completely. He would be interested in watching where the pieces would fall. It was a pity Potter had died, he would have loved flaunting this victory in his face. But there was still Ron Weasley. If he wasn't wrong, the red-headed brat had feelings for the girl. It would be too much fun to parade her affection in front of him, before Severus discarded her.

"I don't understand," he said, releasing her. "You want this too."

"Not like this, please, not like this," she said, taking a step back. He moved forward to close the distance she had placed between them. Reaching out, he put one arm around her, his hand on the small of her back. The other rested on her arm. She stiffened in his embrace, but he didn't release her.

"And just how did you imagine it, Miss Granger?" he breathed silkily into her ear. Silent tears slipped down her cheeks from clenched shut eyes. She bit at her lip, not answering his question.

"Potter would have defeated the Dark Lord," he said softly, his hand moving from her arm to her cheek. With his thumb, he gently brushed away her tears.

"There would have been multitudes of celebrations. Maybe a Ministry ball to honor the Order members." She nodded ever so slightly. "Perhaps you convinced me to dance."

"I don't dance," she whispered, her eyes still closed. She trembled still, and he pulled her closer, his hand at her back tracing small circles in an effort to calm her.

"Of course not, and neither do I," he murmured against her brow, his lips brushing against her skin. "We would have stayed in a corner and traded disparaging remarks about the inefficiencies of the Ministry. I would have invited you back to my house."

"No," she said softly, shaking her head.

"No?" He pulled back slightly to look at her. Her eyes had opened, but embarrassed, she avoided his gaze. He moved his hand that cupped her face down along her neck, tracing her delicate collarbone. It would be so easy, with his hands at her neck like this, to snap it, but he didn't. "You're right. I wouldn't have had the courage. We would have gone our separate ways. But I think days, weeks, perhaps months later we would have seen each other at the apothecary."

"The bookstore."

"Yes, the bookstore. You would have asked me my opinion on a book you were buying. I would have invited you to discuss it over a butterbeer at the Leaky Cauldron. Enjoying that, other meetings would have been arranged. At one point, you would have insisted that I call you Hermione. I would have granted you permission to address me as Severus."

She had stopped crying, though she still wouldn't look at him. Her cheek rested against his, baring her neck to his appraisal. He continued to caress her neck, and then he moved his hand back into her hair, his fingers scratching at her scalp.

"Say it, Hermione," he whispered, his mouth at her ear. "Say my name."

"S—Severus," she choked out.

"One day I would have gathered the courage to kiss you," he continued, pressing his lips alongside her jaw. "Nothing too forward to start, allow you to pull away if you wished. Perhaps first here," he kissed her on the forehead. "Then the next time here." He kissed her cheek. "And finally here." His lips moved against hers. She was passive and unmoving at first, but he teased and coaxed a response from her. He pulled back from her reluctantly, but he felt the pleasure of success when he saw her swollen lips and half-lidded eyes.

"We would have spent more and more time together. What do we do, Hermione? What do we discuss?" He kissed her again.

"You teach me Potions," she whispered when he released her mouth.

"What else?" he prompted, his hand moving from the back of her head, down her arm, and up her side.

"We talk about politics, books, and oh, fashion," she murmured as his hand cupped her breast.

"Fashion?" he asked with a smirk. She couldn't think properly and that was exactly how he wanted her.

"You wear too much black." She leaned into him, and his lips found hers again.

"We're both wearing too much at the moment," he said, grabbing her hands and placing them at his collar. She hadn't moved to touch him yet, and it was time she started. She obeyed his prompting, her fingers fumbling with his buttons. He pushed aside the thin straps of her nightgown. The gauzy fabric slid down, catching on her hips, and he didn't waste time pressing light kisses to the newly exposed expanse of skin.

There was little talking in the next few minutes as she undressed him and he led her to the bed. He explored her body with both his hands and mouth, her squeaks and moans urging him on, his blood beginning to boil.

When he could wait no longer, he hovered over her and asked, "When, Hermione?"

"The night you asked me to marry you," she said, breathless in her anticipation. Her answer gave him a moment's pause. She would have married him?

But he drove away the traitorous thought as he pushed into her. He never would have sullied himself by marrying a Mudblood. His mother had done the unthinkable by marrying a Muggle, and he had vowed never to make the same mistake. His anger at her impertinence, her belief that he would ever see her like that spurred him on, and he no longer cared what she thought. He would use her for his own pleasure, and when he was through, he would rid himself of her.

She cried out from underneath him. He didn't know if it was in pain or in ecstasy, but it didn't matter. He carried on until he felt himself at the brink. A few moments of heaven were all he received before he descended again. Rolling away from her, he suddenly felt sick.

"It never would have happened like that," he sneered.

"I know," she whispered. He sat up and looked back at her. Her eyes glistened but she held back the tears this time.

"You're mine."

_Never_.

He could see the thought flash across her eyes, unaided by Legilimency.

"What do you want from me?" she asked, her hands gripping the bedclothes tightly. He considered her question for a moment. He didn't need her for anything. He had house elves to do the cleaning. He had women more willing and much more appropriate than her. Her being here with him was meant more as a punishment for her than a reward for him. She never should have taunted the Dark Lord.

"There are worse things than death," she had said. And so he decided to prove her right.

"Nothing," he spat. "Go to sleep." He laid back down, pulling up the covers. He decided to abandon his original plan. Convincing her that she loved him, and then casting her aside was too dangerous. Severus might be loyal to the Dark Lord, but he had spent considerable time with Albus Dumbledore. The old fool had gone on and on about the power of love. He didn't like to think that the older wizard could have been right, but he wasn't willing to tempt fate.

An hour later, he was still awake. He could sense that Hermione too hadn't yet fallen asleep. So he wasn't surprised when she sat up and looked down at him. Forcing himself to regulate his breathing, he let her believe that he slept.

"I would have loved you. I could have loved you," she whispered, caressing his face.

When she laid back down, he knew he had made the right decision. Tomorrow, he would either kill her himself or give her to Bellatrix to practice her Cruciatus Curse on. But she was much too dangerous to keep.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I debated and debated on whether to continue this or not, but finally decided I should. If you prefer it as a one-shot, I won't blame you butthere is more; the plot is fully formed in my head. Updates will be longer because I find the inspiration to write on such dark topics a little harder to find, but I shall finish this. Thanks for reading and please leave a review when you're done.

Hermione lay there in bed for hours without sleeping before she finally rose, threw on her discarded nightgown, and went to the bathroom. A wave of nausea overwhelmed her and she leaned over the toilet and threw up.

Standing upright, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She fumbled with the cup at the sink, finally managing to fill it with cool water to drink. Glancing into the mirror that hung over the basin, she cringed. Frizzy curls stuck up at odd angles from her head, dark circles rimmed her eyes, and her skin was nearly gray.

What had she done? How had it come to this? She put the cup back in its place, gripping the sides of the sink tightly as tears began to stream down her cheeks. She could still smell him on her. His taste hung in her mouth.

The worst part of it all was that she had participated freely. For a short time, he offered the opportunity to forget that Harry was dead, that Ron was gone, and that she was a prisoner. And weak as she was, she had taken it.

Her fists clenched as her mind screamed at her with the same argument that had repeated itself over and over in her head as she lay in the bed. He had manipulated her, raped her, and worst of all he had her believing it was okay.

She closed her eyes against the gathering tears. She really had liked him at one time. If life at had turned out differently…it could have been just like what he described if only things had turned out differently. If he had been the man she had once thought him to be.

She opened her eyes and faced her reflection, dismal as it was. She couldn't give in again. Her hand snapped out, and she fumbled with the cabinet, searching for a toothbrush. Finally finding one, she attacked her teeth with a fervor even her parents would have been wary of. But the familiar rhythm, the sheer ordinariness of it comforted her in a way not even Snape had.

"Not having regrets are we, Miss Granger?" She heard him growl from behind her just as she finished rinsing.

She wheeled around to face him, the stolen toothbrush still in hand. She gasped when she saw that he was barely dressed, the black of his boxers in sharp contrast to his pale skin. A smirk spread across his face as he realized her discomfort. The light had been dimmed the night before and in truth she had been so caught up in the moment that she hadn't paid much attention, but his nakedness now, the morning after, only reinforced what they had done together, what she had let him do.

His eyes skimmed her from bare toes to the tip of her head and he reached out to brush away the errant curls from her face, but they bounced right back to where they had been.

"Stubborn. Just like the rest of you," he said as he came closer, one arm snaking around her waist.

"No," she whispered, trying to pull away, but he only held her tighter.

He leaned in and kissed her, just as he had the night before. She tried standing perfectly still in an attempt to dissuade him, but somehow, like last night, he managed to work his tongue into her mouth. The toothbrush dropped from her hand, making a soft clinking sound as it hit the floor. Clenching her eyes shut, she tried to imagine it was Ron that was kissing her and not Snape, but it didn't work. Ron tasted sweet, like pumpkin juice and treacle tart, not the sharp bitter taste of firewhisky.

"You taste like mint," he said softly, lifting his head, his tone almost seductive.

"My parents are dentists," Hermione offered in a moment of irrationality, as though that explained everything. Did he even know what that meant? His own yellowed teeth suggested not. He stepped back at this, though his hands remained at her waist.

"Do you miss them?" he asked, his eyes narrowed. Hermione wondered what his own parents had been like. She knew only their names—Eileen Prince and Tobias Snape. What sort of people raised future Death Eaters? She hadn't seen her own parents in years. Summer holidays with them were cut shorter and shorter every year until she stopped going home at all. Owls became fewer and fewer as the war waged on. Did they even know what had happened?

She nodded in answer to his question, afraid to speak as more tears gathered at the edges of her eyes. She fought to keep them there, looking at tile patterns in the floor in an effort to avoid his penetrating gaze. She didn't want to cry in front of him again.

"You will stop this at once," he demanded, grabbing her chin and forcing her to look him in the eye. "Have I been cruel to you?"

Reluctantly, she shook her head. Not intentionally, but his "kindness" was worse. He confused her. Made her believe that she had really wanted last night. But he had offered her no choice. Would he have accepted a refusal? Just because he had made it nicer for her did not change the fact that she had not wanted it.

His voice, low, dark, and warm before, turned suddenly cold. "I could hand you over to Lucius. He would love a little Mudblood of his own to practice Dark spells on. Or Bellatrix. She never turns down an opportunity to use the Cruciatus. Is that what you want?"

Hermione shut her eyes, blocking out the intense stare of his cold black eyes digging into her subconscious. It occurred to her that this was how he had manipulated her last night.

"Answer me!"

"I could hate them. They might break me physically, but I could always remain Hermione Granger even as I cried out for mercy."

"And with me?" he asked, coming closer, the grip on her chin becoming more of a caress. With him, she would lose herself. He would envelope her until she no longer knew where Hermione ended and Severus began. He made her feel things she shouldn't, things she didn't want to feel. She could have loved him in a different time, in a different place. She nearly did now.

"Please," she pleaded. "I want to go home."

He leaned forward, whispering in her ear, "My dear, you already are."

He turned and left the bathroom. Hermione watched him go, his last words echoing in her head. With a soft cry of desperation, she crumpled to the floor. The tiles cool on her exposed skin, now wet with her tears.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"Doesn't this disgust you the least bit?"

The sun filtered through the curtains. It was another excellent start to a new day. Severus rolled away from her, trying to catch his breath when Hermione asked him the question. She lay on her side, facing away from him. He hadn't let her put her nightgown back on, and so she was sulking. Her question had the hint of an accusation in it. It took him by surprise. Since that first morning after watching her break down in the bathroom, he knew that he had been too hasty in his decision to get rid of her.

'Love,' he scoffed as he listened to her cry. Love hadn't saved Potter in the end, only delayed the finale. Love hadn't saved Albus, but had weakened him to where Severus could make the final fatal blow. And love would not save Miss Granger.

His first plan—to convince her she loved him—was turning out to be much more entertaining. And didn't he deserve to be adored and cared for by someone? Not patronized as the headmaster had done, or ordered about like the Dark Lord did, but truly appreciated. She was coming along nicely, so that he was starting to enjoy her presence more and more.

Besides, she was very handy to have around when brewing potions. Even he couldn't deny her intelligence. She didn't have the flair for invention, but she took instructions flawlessly. In the lab anyways. It was different in the bedroom.

"If you think sex is disgusting you are more of a prude than I thought, my dear." He sidled up behind her, dragging his hand down the length of her arm.

"Am I really?" she asked as he kissed her shoulder. He nosed his way through her mass of hair to her neck. He found he never tired of her silken skin. The women he cavorted with normally were closer to his age, and their bodies showed the wear and tear. But Hermione had only a few scars to show for her time in the war. Otherwise, she was still supple and soft.

"Are you what?" He paused.

"Your dear?" She choked over the words.

"At the moment." Declarations of never-ending affection had never made sense to Severus. He liked her at this moment, with his desire sated, but in any minute she might do or say something that would irritate him, and he would cease to think so well of her. Why make promises about the future that no one could keep?

"But I was your student," she protested, turning slightly so she could look at his face.

"And that matters how?"

"It just does," she argued. "It goes against convention." Hers, perhaps, but not his. Severus Snape did not hold to many modern conventions.

"Are you saying you never dreamed of what might have happened if I had stayed at Hogwarts? If I had assigned you detention?" he whispered in her ear. She shivered despite herself. "I assure you I wouldn't have turned you over to Filch. I would want you all to myself."

"I never got detention again after my first year," she said indignantly. A burst of anger coursed through him at her arrogance. She was lucky she wasn't expelled numerous times, let alone detentions! But Dumbledore had always allowed exceptions for Potter and his band of misfits.

"Only because you weren't caught in the act," he told her, skimming his hand over her stomach. He pulled her closer, flush against him. "You would have gotten bolder in your defiance as you reached your seventh year, perhaps even argued with me in class."

She stiffened in his arms, as he continued to talk, punctuating his little speech with kisses on her back and neck. She softened some when he reached the spot just below her ear.

"You would have showed up in your robes and schoolgirl skirt, rolled at the waist, so I could see more of your magnificent legs." He trailed his hand up the backs of her thighs to cup her rounded bottom. "You would have said some ridiculous line about how much I could teach you, more than just Potions or Defense Against the Dark Arts, but about life. I would have told you to stop spewing nonsense and set you to work at scrubbing cauldrons."

He stroked her sides and stomach as he went on, "I don't know who would have made the first move. Most likely you wouldn't have backed down, and I would have been forced to show you what things could truly be like between a man and a woman. Or maybe I would decide you hadn't done a good enough job, and more punishment would have been in order, like a spanking, for example." His hand crept lower, reaching the junction of her thighs. He was growing hard again at the thought of it.

"Stop it," she said vehemently, batting his hand away. "I never had detention fantasies about you, or anyone else for that matter."

He grabbed her hand and placed it where his had previously been. "Didn't you?" he whispered. "I was still your teacher when you learned I was a spy, when your little crush began. I left Hogwarts at the end of your sixth year and didn't see you again until four years later. Two years. Two years, Hermione, that you thought me your hero, and both of them while you were my student. You never imagined what it might be like to have me bend you back over the workbench and really teach you something worth knowing?"

"Stop it," she protested, but it was weaker this time. Her resolve was breaking, just like it always did.

"I'm sure we could find an old Hogwarts uniforms for you to wear if it would make you more comfortable," he teased. "Miss Granger," he added for effect.

"Nothing would make me more comfortable with this arrangement." She spat the last word as if it left a bad taste in her mouth. Severus didn't know what was wrong with it. She survived, and lived much more comfortably than she would have anywhere else. He didn't ask for much, but some gratitude would be nice

"That's sir to you," he said harshly. He pulled her to him and kissed her. She tried to push him away, but he held her tight. She wouldn't resist long. She never did.

"Haven't you had your fill this morning?" she gasped as he touched her intimately.

"I think not," he answered, nibbling on her ear.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" She sounded desperate. At first, he thought it was a ruse to distract him, until he remembered he really did have an important meeting with the Dark Lord regarding a new potion he wanted brewed. Ever since his role as a spy had ended, Severus had been relegated to little more than a glorified cook.

"Damn! I'm going to be late." He cursed again, reaching for his robe. He dressed quickly, hoping the Dark Lord would not notice his late arrival. "You are too distracting," he told her as he buttoned up his cloak.

Hermione looked too relieved to be free of his presence. She sat up in bed, pulling the sheet up over her as she did. But then she bit her bottom lip, a sign he now knew meant that she was worried. Was she worried for his safety? She should be. If anything ever happened to him, she would be much worse off.

"I couldn't distract you if you let me go home."

"But you're such a pleasant one," he amended. He pointed his wand at her, and the sheet stripped away. With a gasp, she covered herself with her arms, her cheeks reddening. Severus watched as the blush traveled down with an appraising look.

"You could tell your lord that you tired of me and killed me," she continued on, as though he had said nothing.

"I am not in the habit of giving something for nothing, Hermione," he said. He made it to the door before she spoke again.

"What if I could give you everything?" she asked, her voice a haunted whisper.

He didn't have time to stop to think what she meant by that. He was already late as it was.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Hermione watched as Snape left in a swish of black robes. She waited until she heard the thud of the door outer door closing before she reached down and grabbed her nightgown, shrugging it on as she padded across the floor. She put her ear to the door just to be sure, but there was no sound. The silence enveloped and welcomed her. This was her chance.

She had found the spell in one of his Dark magic books a week ago. It had taken three days to come to a decision, and now she had her chance. Scurrying into the living room, she ran a finger over the spines of the leather spines. His books alone were almost enough to convince her to stay, but that was impossible. More and more everyday Hermione Granger slipped away, replaced with a mere shadow of who she used to be.

Her life bordered on normal. She woke, she showered and breakfasted. He asked that she help him in the lab. He lent her his books to read and sometimes even discussed them with her. But it was the evenings that she dreaded. Cold fear, like an invisible hand slithering around her throat and choking the life out of her, descended every night after dinner, when he would take her by the hand and pull her close, whisper sweet nothings in her ear, and lead her into the bedroom.

In another world, she might have relished the attention he bestowed on her, but here she had no choice, no option to say no. She couldn't even beg off a night, complaining of a headache or fatigue. Severus Snape was not a man you could say no to. But she would get him to say yes to her plan. In this, she would not fail. Her life was at stake.

Her finger rested on the book she wanted. Pulling it open, she flipped to the page she wanted. This spell was going to set her free. But the next page, the page with the warnings would convince Snape it wasn't worth the risk. She couldn't have that. Taking a deep breath, her hand hovered over the page. She made her decision, and with a loud rip, she tore it from its place.

She used the next few hours to get dressed, eat, and set the scene. When Snape came in, she stood at the bookshelf, flipping through the book.

"What are you doing?" he asked, throwing his cloak over the back of the sofa.

"Nothing." She put the book back on the shelf, and then turned and leaned back against the shelf, trying to look innocent.

"It doesn't look like nothing," he said. He swept closer, his eyes glinting with curiosity, and something else that she didn't like the look of. With one arm, he trapped her against the shelf, while with the other one he reached out and plucked the book from its resting place. Hermione had creased the page she wanted, and it opened to that page. A picture of a witch and a wizard graced the page. A bright light leapt from the witch's chest and flowed into the wizard.

"What is this?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"It was just an idea," she whispered. She looked away from his intent gaze. She couldn't let him see her thoughts.

"You would do this for me?" He placed two fingers under her chin, tipping her face up to meet his. "You would give me your magic?"

"You're a great man, Severus," she choked out. She forced herself to run a finger down his chest. "You deserve better than brewing Peppeup at the Dark Lord's whim. My power combined with yours will make you greater than…"

"You shouldn't say such things," he hissed, his fingers moving down from her chin to curl around her neck. Her breath caught in her throat. She knew he wouldn't hurt her unless she pushed him. The only time he had ever raised a hand to her was the one night she had tried to resist his attentions.

"Fine, I won't say it," she croaked. "But just think about it."

"And what about you? You'll be left no better than a Muggle." He released her and stepped back. Hermione rubbed at her throat.

"All I want is to go home. If I do this for you, you let me go home to my parents. You can tell everyone that you tired of me and killed me."

"And if I don't want to let you go?" he said, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her up against him.

"When you're the next…" He silenced her with his mouth. She stood perfectly still, waiting for him to finish. Voldemort had spies everywhere. Her words could put him in grave danger.

"It has to be freely given," she said when he freed her mouth. "I'll only do it on two conditions."

"So now it's two?" he said sarcastically. She clenched her fists, willing herself not to punch him. She had given him everything she had to give, was prepared to give even more, and he treated her with disdain. But then an image of her mother and father, laughing over dinner and talking about their day, their boring mundane day, and she focused on her goal.

"I want to go home. And," she paused, "I want you to Obliviate me."

A/N: Sorry it's taken so long to update, but this is a difficult story to write despite knowing what's to come, (or perhaps because of what's to come.) Please leave a review because as my name suggests, I suffer from great vanity. Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Severus had taken part in several Unbreakable Vows in his life, but never before had a house-elf presided over one. Hermione assured him it was just as binding, and he agreed, not caring much. If it was less so then that was only in his favor.

He noticed she was very careful with her words. He vowed to take her home, Obliviate her, and then never touch her again. Anger bubbled up and his eyes narrowed at the last statement. Had he not treated her well? She lived, better than most with a roof over her head, food to eat, and clothes to wear. She had only to raise her eyebrows for him to acquiesce, remembering what it was she gave to him.

"You wish never to see me again?" he asked afterwards as they still kneeled on the floor, their hands entwined.

"No," she answered quickly. "I'm thinking only of you." She held fast to his hands. "I couldn't bear the thought of seeing you being lessened by me."

He understood then. How well his plan had worked. She loved him to such a degree that she was willing to do anything to see him succeed. Even give him up.

And she was right, he thought, when he was the next Dark Lord he would hardly want a Muggle for a mistress, no matter how young and pretty she might be. Beautiful witches would fling themselves in his path, begging for any scrap of attention he might throw their way. Hermione Granger had been a pleasant way to pass the time, but Severus Snape was destined for better things.

Visions of Lucius Malfoy kissing the hem of his robe danced through his head with delight as he prepared the necessary potion. No more smirks from his twisted arrogant face when the Dark Lord ordered Severus to brew him some more Pepperup. No more crude comments about his hair from Bellatrix. Or patronizing words from Nott. He would get the respect he deserved.

Forty minutes later and they were ready. Surprising how little time it took to change one's life. This morning he had been content to wake up to sex with Hermione Granger and brew a few potions. This evening he prepared to conquer the Wizarding world.

He kissed the corner of her mouth, a soft kiss, a goodbye kiss of sorts. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again they held a steely determination.

"Shall we do this?" she asked.

"After you," he said, handing her the silver knife. The last ingredient required was their combined blood.

She inhaled and brought the knife down on the smooth skin of her wrist. The veins broke and the blood burst forth. Biting her lip against the pain, she handed the knife to him. He repeated the gesture. Six drops from each and the potion turned a dark black. With a wry smile, he spooned the thick concoction into two glasses.

"Cheers," he said, holding his glass high. The corners of her mouth tugged up into the first smile he had seen from her in months and she clinked her glass against hers.

"Good luck, Professor," she said, drinking deeply. He watched her, suddenly wary of any underlying motives. But he had looked into her eyes and all he had seen there was an intense desire to be with her family. A sad existence, he thought, pathetic that that would be her one and only wish. His esteem of her lowered tonight. But he followed her lead, and drank his potion, so that they both might achieve their dreams.

It took a moment before he felt anything, but Hermione slumped to the floor almost immediately. He moved to touch her, to make sure it had worked right, but before he reached her still form, a bright light burst forth out of her chest. Her screams echoed in his ears, and the pain in his own body matched the horrific sound of it. He heard the sound of breaking glass and felt the rush of blood in his ears. He trembled violently, wishing for his own death. And then it was over.

* * *

He woke up on the floor, saliva pooling in the left corner of his mouth and the cold hard stones biting into his back. Hermione lay beside him, pale as a ghost, and barely breathing. The clock showed they had been there for quite some time. Stretching his legs, he moved experimentally. Everything appeared in working order.

The real test would be his wand. He stood up and found it lying on his workbench among the broken glass. A quick flick in the direction of what had been his goblet produced a warm wind, the broken shards knitting back together with no trace of where they had once broke apart. The power that surged through his chest and down his arm at such a simple spell nearly overwhelmed him.

Like a kid at Christmas, he rushed around the room casting charm after charm, giddy with his newfound sense of power. He felt unstoppable. He was unstoppable. Only the familiar tingle of the Unbreakable Vow gave him pause. Remembering Hermione in the floor, he Levitated her into his arms, then Apparated them both to a small brownstone in Birmingham.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Wow, so long time no see, eh? I actually had this posted on LJ since this summer but only just realized I hadn't put it up here. So thank you to my loyal readers who after many many months of suspense keep reading, especially Rubyfey. And just to be fair the ending will be posted by the end of the week.

**Chapter Six**

Hermione worked in a bookstore. She lived with her parents. She liked carrots but not peas and milk in her tea with only one sugar. These were things that she knew. She also knew the name of the Prime Minister and the dates of WWII. She could recite the wives of King Henry VIII - divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded, survived.

Sometimes she repeated it to herself as she shelved new merchandise just to remind herself that, no matter how trivial, she knew something. That knowledge gave her comfort, because there were so many other things she didn't know.

The marks on the inside of her wrist, for example. Her therapist insisted that they proved she had attempted suicide, but she felt quite strongly that this could not have been the case. It didn't sound like a thing she would do.

Or her missing memories. She couldn't remember anything past the age of eleven. She remembered leaving her primary school and then…nothing. Amnesia, the doctor diagnosed, brought on most likely by extreme trauma. But if anyone knew what had happened, they weren't telling her.

She had a boyfriend, a lovely man named Seth. He was tall, with dark brown hair and blue eyes, and she still hadn't figured out why he liked her. But he had come into her bookstore for months, buying up every staff pick they put out, waiting with a hopeful look while she rang up his purchase until one day she said, "This is a great book. It's my favorite, actually."

He invited her out for tea then, and later admitted that he'd been buying books, hoping she would talk to him. His interest made her blush. But it also made her nervous. What if he wanted to know about where she went to school or how she got the marks on her wrist?

She tried to avoid him after that, making up excuse after excuse for why she couldn't go with him to the movies, or a concert, or a book signing, or whatever he proposed. But he persisted until she finally confessed her worries, knowing that he would stop pestering then.

Except that he didn't. Finding out, he admitted to being as perplexed as she was, but it didn't stop him from liking her. She was mysterious, a puzzle, and he always liked puzzles, especially ones with beautiful brown eyes and a sharp sense of humor.

He had a harder time understanding why she balked at anything more than a chaste kiss on the mouth.

"It's not you, it's me," she tried to explain on more than one occasion. She couldn't describe the horrifying feeling of terror that bubbled up inside of her every time he pulled her close. His arms, which were so nice and strong by themselves, became vises, trapping her and never letting go. She knew she shouldn't feel this way, but his embrace felt like a prison from which she could never escape.

"Women always mean it the other way around," he argued. She could hear the bitterness creeping into his tone and she bit her lip in an effort to keep back the tears of frustration.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice.

She knew he loved her when seeing her distress, he just nodded his head, took her hand instead, and changed the topic.

She knew she loved him after a frightening incident in the bookstore.

A tall dark man, dressed all in black, swooped down on her as she prepared to leave with Seth for lunch. She had no memory of who he was, but deep down in the pit of her stomach she knew that she knew him.

And he certainly acted as though he knew her, addressing her as "you little bitch."

"Excuse me?" she asked, bewildered at being spoken to in such a way.

"You knew!" he spat. "You knew what would happen. I found this," he hissed, shoving a piece of old brown paper under her nose.

"Just who do you think you are to talk to a lady like that?" Seth asked angrily. He dropped Hermione's hand and moved to step in front of her.

"Who I am is of no importance to a piece of Muggle filth like yourself," the man in black said with a sneer. "And she is no lady. She is a lying Mudblood whore!"

Seth raised his fists at that. Other people around them stopped to watch as the drama unfolded. The darker man pulled out a thin piece of wood and pointed it at them both. Seth stifled disbelieving laugh, but the sight of it made Hermione's heart pound in her chest, but why, she didn't know.

"Don't, Seth," she said, pulling at his sleeve, but he ignored her, determined to fight for her honor. It was touching, but it worried her all the same. She couldn't bear to see him hurt over her.

"I won't let this wanker talk to you like that," Seth said.

"I may not be able to touch you," the man in black snarled at Hermione, "but your Muggle boyfriend is fair game."

"No!" Hermione said vehemently. Both men looked at her. "You can't. You know you can't. It's not in you to do it. You can't kill an innocent man." She didn't know how she knew it, but it was the truth. And the look on his face as it twisted in anger told her that her instinct was right.

He let out a shout of frustration and a red light burst forth out of the end of his wooden stick. It exploded as it hit the side of building, showering large chunks of concrete down on Hermione, Seth, and a pair of teenagers who happened to be standing nearby. The man in black disappeared without a trace, never to be seen again.

Seth ended up in the hospital with a broken wrist and a few bruises. Hermione had a concussion. And what she didn't tell anyone else was that her memories came back, unbidden and suddenly from the dark depths of her mind – horrific sights and terrifying sounds that she thought she had been lucky to forget. But it helped her understand.

She had survived.

Now she needed to live.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Severus felt a small pang of regret as he laid Hermione down on the bed in her parent's home. He reached his hand out to touch the curls he had spent the last several months getting to know intimately and felt the familiar tingle of magic that accompanied an Unspeakable Vow. He pulled back inches from her face, and that was the last thought he gave to her or what they had or might have had if things had been different.

His next thought was total and complete glee at the idea of what Lucius would say when he first raised his wand against his old "friend." He checked his watch. It wasn't too late to catch everyone tonight unawares. The Dark Lord's dinner, something Severus never went to, (because the invitations got lost in the post he told himself,) would be ending just about now. Without another thought for Hermione, he Apparated to Hogwarts.

He hurried to the Great Hall where Voldemort (he dared say the name now) and the other Death Eaters were coming out. Lucius saw him first.

"What are you doing here, Severus? Don't you have potions to brew?" He never resisted an opportunity to remind Snape of his lower position. Severus sneered at him and thought the nastiest, most painful curse that he knew.

The spell stayed at the front of his mind, but he couldn't summon the willpower to execute it fully. Lucius had a son. And a wife. He hadn't done anything that Severus wouldn't have done had he been in his place.

Fine, he thought bitterly, so he wouldn't start with Lucius. He would save his revenge on him for last. It would be much sweeter that way anyway. He turned his wand on Nott.

Nothing leapt forth. Nott had saved his arse more than once on the battlefield. It would be unfair to impale him after that. He tried again. Still there was nothing, except for…for a tingle of something he hadn't felt in a very long time.

He'd felt it long ago when he watched Lily Evans in the library, twirling her quill and tapping her fingers on the desk while she studied. He'd felt it even before that when his mother had packed him off to school, kissing him on the forehead and telling him to behave.

And then the world went dark for a moment and his head met with the flagstone floor. He felt Lucius' boot on his back.

"How dare you raise your wand to me, you good for nothing half-blood."

Another boot collided with his ribs and again with his face. His combined magic didn't let him hurt others but it did thankfully allow him to Apparate away despite the protective spells that surrounded the one-time school.

Severus landed on his own floor angry, tired, and in pain. He nearly destroyed his lab with the force of his rage. Glass bottles broke into a shower of shards. Books flew off the shelf, their pages ripped from their covers. Drawers came out and dumped their contents on the floor.

That was how he found it. A scrap of paper, shoved in a drawer, floated down and landed near his head where he lay. He didn't notice it for hours. Not until he moved to get up and clean up the mess.

Picking it up, he read it and suddenly realized what he had done, what she had talked him into.

_Certain precautions must be taken when utilizing this spell. Be careful to choose a witch or wizard with the same disposition as your own. Powerful emotions are tied to a person's magic. Wizards not only feel an emotion but also use that emotion to drive their magical force. Anger, malice, and hatred are examples of such emotions as well as love and forgiveness. Be especially cautious with any witch who exhibits the latter, as these two together or even alone will always override the former when trying to utilize the combined magical force._

The conniving little Mudblood witch had tricked him. He didn't know now if she loved him or not, (would she do this to him if she had?) but it didn't matter. She loved someone – her precious Potter who was now dead or her long lost boyfriend Weasley—and that was enough to make sure that he never became the next Dark Lord. He wouldn't even be able to survive as a Death Eater in his current state, sympathizing with every potential victim. Her love, tied to the magic she had given him, made certain of that.

He thought of what he might have had. Of what she had robbed him, the all-encompassing power, the worship of followers who also cowered in fear. And then a few minutes later, he even thought of what he had given up in her – someone who might have truly cared for him in a way few people ever had. But it didn't matter now what could have been.

His only chance now was to run. And hope the Dark Lord didn't find him.

* * *

A/N: This has been an experimental piece for me and I hope you've enjoyed it. In many ways it is a response to my disgust over the many stories where Hermione falls in love with her captor. I have tried giving her a truly happy ending where love saves the day. Please comment and review. 


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